


40 Days of Zayn

by CaesarEmporio



Category: One Direction (Band), Zayn Malik (Musician)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Bestiality, Bottom Zayn, Experimentation, Masturbation, Object Insertion, Older Woman/Younger Man, Oral Sex, Shoe Kink, straight zayn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-11-16
Updated: 2017-08-21
Packaged: 2018-08-31 09:11:58
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,593
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8572633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CaesarEmporio/pseuds/CaesarEmporio
Summary: Various smutty one shots featuring Zayn both by himself and with several pairings. Will try and update as often as possible.





	1. Zayn gets fucked by his dog

Months after Zayn had left One Direction, he felt a hole in his life. He knew it was a hole that being in a band couldn't fill, nor was it a hole that a thriving solo career could fill. He already had a number one album all around the world, and the most incredible girlfriend he could hope for in Gigi. She really was his anchor. In the public eye, he'd performed the dutiful partner role very well: He'd be in the front row as she walked in Versace fashion shows, he'd congratulate her on her success as an uber-model on Twitter, and he even flew all over the world as her wing-man. 

But when he was alone in Los Angeles while Gigi was in Paris or Milan, he felt hollow. His anxiety would rise, and he'd find himself no longer wanting to leave his home in the Hills. Sure, he'd tried to take that pain and write music or make art, but it wasn't the way he liked to do things. He didn't want to feel this tortured on the inside.

So he bought a dog. A staffy named Duke, with silver-grey fur that almost looked blue when he stood in the Californian sun. He was a gleeful dog, overly energetic and loving, with a seemingly-permanent grin plastered to his face. He was kind of just what Zayn needed during his dark moments: A big, goofy animal who would give unconditional love when others wouldn't. Zayn would sometimes spend hours throughout a day just rolling around on his back lawn with Duke, strings of the dog's saliva flying around as he jumped to catch sticks and chased after Zayn.

He didn't tell Gigi the real reason he bought Duke. He claimed he was a rescued dog he found at the pound and couldn't turn him away. He even joked they were a power couple, and all power couples needed a third party.

"Jay-Z and Beyoncé took off once they had Blue Ivy," he smirked. That was kind of Zayn is a nutshell. Despite his inner conflicts, he was able to put on a good front and always keep that edgy confidence - bordering on smug arrogance. Gigi was none the wiser. She knew about Zayn's struggles, but for all she could tell he was genuinely just glad to have saved this dog from probable death. It made her feel warm inside to know Zayn was trying to find ways to do good instead of letting his anxiety issues defeat him.

\- - - 

It was June 2016 when he saw the photos first published in the entertainment section of the Los Angeles Times. He had become an avid reader since Gigi became the biggest model in the world. Sometimes they would laugh together as they read hilariously inaccurate stories about Gigi feuding with fellow models, and sometimes he'd just beam with pride as he read about another milestone Gigi clocked off in the fashion industry.

But he felt neither entertainment nor pride as he saw the blurry photos of himself emptying his trash out the front of his LA property, basketball shorts tucked around his waist, the tiniest hint of his belly hanging over the waist-band, his face gaunt and tired, previously-unseen leg tattoos now on full display for the world. He kept telling himself it was nothing to be ashamed of. 

Everyone looks like shit when they just wake up. 

Everyone would have seen the leg tattoos eventually anyway.

It was just the stance that made my abs look fucked up.

Yet despite these thoughts, he couldn't shake the idea that once again, the world had found a way to make Zayn the butt of some big joke. And he never understood the punch-line. 

He needed embrace. Gigi was in New York City at a design meeting with Tommy Hilfiger, and wouldn't be back in LA for at least six hours. Duke was asleep, and he didn't have the heart to wake him just for a cuddle. And he couldn't exactly approach his mates with his self-esteem issues. 

"Get over it," they'd joke, reminding Zayn how famous he is, and how many fans he has. 

Fans. 

That was it. They'd been with Zayn through everything, from the X Factor days to his departure from One Direction. Whenever he felt down, he'd scroll through his Instagram comments. Even hyper-sexual teen girls calling him 'Zaddy' would still make him feel genuinely happy. But when he checked his Instagram, he was flooded with comments, most of which weren't even from his fans. They didn't even follow him. But the comments were still there.

"Been eating your way through your anxiety eh?" one wrote.

"#Fatzayn" wrote another.

It was fine. He was used to his haters, even if they made him uncomfortable. But then came the fans' comments.

"Zayn i'm seriously worried about you. You look horribly sick and depressed in these latest photos!!" 

"pls tell me you aren't taking drugs" 

"What happened to you baby? you look awful lately and i'm worried! We are here for you so please let us help you."

He felt like he didn't need help anymore. But why did his fans make him wish he had more help? It was the worst feeling he'd ever felt. Lower than when he felt overwhelmed and crushed by the weight of being in One Direction, and the enormous pressure he felt once he'd left the band. He felt trapped in his own body and mind, and didn't know how to get out. If he ever would.

He went to his bedroom, dark and concealed due to the blinds being shut fully (it had become a habit since he'd move to LA, where paparazzi helicopters are flying ahead literally every few hours.) He took off his shoes, socks and jeans, leaving him in just the plain white T-shirt he was wearing and his tight white Calvin Klein's. He let his body fall straight onto the bed, laying on his stomach, legs bent over the side, face turned to the side, arms flat by his side in deflation.

He needed to calm down before his thoughts got any darker. He was breathing heavy, his skin felt flushed, and he was sweating. 

"Ugh" he groaned in frustration as he wrestled his T-shirt over his neck and threw it on the floor with a huff. He sighed and let out one long breath, and shut his eyes.

\- - -

He awoke very slowly, he can remember that. It was very gradual; it took about 40 seconds between that first wet feeling behind his ballsack and his eyes actually opening properly. Well, this is new, was his first thought. Gigi had never really gone anywhere near his rear end before, let alone licked his arse crack and balls through his underwear. But it felt good, he couldn't deny that. He may have even subconsciously spread his legs and grant that little bit more access. He may have even subconsciously shifted his hips back to meet the wet feeling pressing through the now-damp patch at the rear of his CK's.

He couldn't be sure though; he was still half-asleep. But it did feel similar to the last time he and Gigi had wake-up sex. They were both butt-naked, and Zayn felt her warm lips wrapping around his flaccid cock, taking him all the way to the base in one go just as his eyes flickered open to awareness. This was like that, but just a different part of Zayn was being stimulated.

Was this Gigi's way of spicing up their sex life? 

Hang on... Gigi... she's in New York... 

He looked up at the digital clock on his bed-side table. It read 4:04pm. He'd only been asleep for two hours, and Gigi wasn't expected back for at least four more hours. She never came back from her business unexpectedly early. He wished they had that luxury as a couple. All these thoughts ran through his mind, to the point he actually forgot that the wet press on the back of his underwear had grown more aggressive. 

What was going on?

He finally found the energy to lift his head up off the soft white sheets, and turned his head behind him, only to be stunned at what he saw. Duke was on his hind legs, resting his two front paws on the edge of the bed, burying his dark snout into Zayn's arse, every now and then angling his head to sniffle his nose into the area under the curve of his arse, where his cheeks met his thighs in the middle. 

Zayn was mortified. The sensual wet feeling he'd felt as his underwear dampened under Gigi's tongue had become a gross, sticky feeling as he realised it was Duke's much more rough tongue. He quickly move to shuffle forward, to push Duke away; to do anything. But the awkward position he'd fallen asleep in made it difficult for him to move, especially with the weight of a gigantic staffy lingering above him. 

What if? Zayn thought to himself. What if he just decided to try this one crazy thing? Could it even be considered crazy if it could take his mind away from the hell he was facing being... who he was? What if he just didn't move, and just trusted Duke - his best friend over the last six or so months - to not hurt him? It's not like Duke would fuck him. Nothing would ever go in his ass, and he'd never do bestiality. That shit was criminal, not to mention disgusting.

But he could sit here and let Duke make him feel better, surely.

And that is what Zayn did. 

Duke sensed Zayn's acceptance and lack of struggle, and begun burying his snout as deep into Zayn's arse as the tight confines of his CK's would allow. Suddenly, Zayn felt something a tad more harsh and abrupt than a tongue. Duke was opening his jaw more and using his teeth, ever-so-lightly scraping them down Zayn's crack and pressing inwards. 

"Ohh!' Zayn moaned, out of surprise more than anything. It took only a second for Zayn to realise what he'd just done. Was he actually enjoying this? It was a new sensation for him. The most attention he's ever had paid to his arse was a playful slap by Liam or Harry on stage, or a crazed fan trying to grab it as he left his hotel lobby. 

He started getting restless. He felt like he wanted more, it was a good feeling, one that made him feel worshipped and whole, but he didn't know how to get more. He shouldn't be getting this feeling from a dog!

Again, his mind was circling over so many thoughts he didn't even pay attention to his hands, tucked into his waistband and hoisting them over his curvy but firm behind and down his thighs. He sighed in relief as the fresh air hit his bare cheeks, a slight breeze drifting between his cheeks; a feeling he'd never paid attention to in the past until Duke had made his crack literally wet.

He heard the sound of fabric tearing and looked down again to realise Duke had excitedly torn apart his expensive white Calvin Klein boxers in an effort to get them off his legs. Zayn rolled his eyes lazily, thinking how typical it was of the hyper-active dog. But it still hadn't really sunk in yet: He had just taken his underwear off and presented his arse for his dog to have free reign over.

Well, not free reign. The dog would not be doing anything more than just feeling around. 

But Duke wasted no time in accepting that challenge. He dove his wet nose between Zayn's cheeks, thrusting his snout back and forth a few times in order to get his cheeks apart. This action hurt Zayn, he had to be honest. Duke was loving, but he was still a dog, and he was a rough dog at that. So Zayn had no choice but to try and ease Duke through it. He found himself using his own hands to pull his cheeks apart, something he never even imagined himself doing for any purpose, let alone for a dog. 

His tight hole was now well and truly on display, a light brown dusting all around it but the little bud was just as pink and puckered as Gigi's. Duke understood that Zayn was trying to mellow him, and he took his time sniffing and licking at the very faint hairs up and down Zayn's exposed crack. He ran his wet nose up and down repeatedly, so much so that Zayn could feel Duke's saliva oozing down his perineum. It felt uncomfortable for him, so he reached his hand back to wipe it, but as his index and middle fingers came into contact with his taint, he found himself unable to draw away. 

So he rubbed. And rubbed some more, Duke just observing curiously but wanting more for himself. Zayn, forgetting Duke was even there, kept on rubbing his taint, wet and lubricated with Duke's saliva and his own sweat. He didn't realize he was letting out faint little moans, almost squeals of relief, his hips lifting and thrusting off the mattress ever so slightly. As he moved his hips, his cock and balls had fallen through his legs and were poking out gracefully from his crack. This was new to Duke. He began licking the head of Zayn's cock, teeth grazing his piss slit, causing Zayn to utter his loudest moan yet.

"Oh FUCK!" Zayn groaned, head buried into the sheets, drool sliding through his open mouth onto the white fabric below, but he didn't care. He was in too much of a state to care about how messy he was in this moment. Sensing Duke was getting impatient, he took his fingers away from his perineum, but kept one hand holding his left cheek open. This gave Duke open invitation back into his treasure spot.

Small moans kept stumbling out of Zayn's mouth, and he needed something to keep him distracted. Suddenly, he looked down at his two fingers, shining with moisture - some of Duke's saliva, mostly his own taint sweat - and thrust them into his open mouth. He didn't know why, he didn't know what he expected to gain from them. But moaning while your mouth is full of something made him feel less emasculated than the high-pitched moaning he was trying to stop before. He sucked his fingers, taking odd pleasure in the feeling of giving himself pleasure with his own taste. 

He was so caught up in this experience, which was admittedly undeniably gay, that he didn't even notice Duke's paws suddenly grasping onto his shoulders. 

"Ow!" Zayn groaned around his fingers, startled by the unexpectedly rough action. 

What did Duke think he was doing?

"Down, Dukey!" Zayn yelled assertively. He was enjoying the pleasure that Duke had given him, but having this great beast on top of him, pressing him down, scratching his back and breathing all over him wasn't pleasurable. "Get off!" Zayn tried hopelessly to kick his legs up, hoping to knock Duke off balance. But it was no use. Zayn had difficulty play-wrestling with him at the best of times, but when he was naked, vulnerable and bent over his bed with his dog trying to mount him, it was impossible for Zayn to get out of this position.

Then Zayn felt something. He couldn't describe it but it was a moment of realization that there was no way Duke would ever hurt him. He only needed a quick glance at Duke - his eyes focused on Zayn's, like he understood that Zayn was more than just a piece of meat he could tear apart or do whatever he wanted with - to know that Duke had control. Control of himself and his restraint, and control over the situation. He even had control over Zayn.

The way Zayn had been pathetically coming to Duke for affection over the last few months, he couldn't even really blame Duke for feeling like Zayn owed him something. 

"I must be out of my mind," Zayn huffed, one hand half-heartedly reaching behind him to rub Duke's ear in approval. This willingness to accept Duke's affection was wrong, he knew that. But in his mind, it wasn't sinister. He loved this dog like a best friend, and he missed Gigi more than anything. The feeling he felt when Duke's tongue was lapping and pressing at his hole filled him with warmth. How could something that feels so right be so wrong?

Once again, Zayn had tried to have a conversation with himself, to settle his nerves and get a full grasp on the situation. But he'd also not paid attention to Duke, who was doing his own thing. He was now digging his paws into Zayn's upper back and shoulder blades, using his strength to pull Zayn's frail body into his own, grinding his cock up and down Zayn's arse cheeks, still red and sweaty from the attention Duke had given them. 

Zayn's eyes bolted wide open as he felt something more stiff pressing at his hole, just nudging the rim, waiting for the muscles to relax and accept. A bizarre half-moan-half-cry escaped Zayn's lips, and he didn't know if it was a moan of horror and disgust, or pleasure and ecstacy. He suspected it was a bit of both. He had gone further than anyone is supposed to go with an animal. There was no point him pretending like he was grossed out by this when this was something he obviously wanted and needed all along. 

He reached behind himself and aimlessly waved his hand around, trying to find Duke's cock but not able to see it. Once he had finally hit with his hand, he closed his eyes and went for it. He wrapped his hand around the cock, and was surprised by how normal it felt. It was thinner and more bumpy than his own, so there was more friction. He stroked it a few times, earning a few heavy pants from Duke. And then he guided it back to his entrance. The pain had become overwhelming. His hole needed something more, needed a pressure to make him feel full. The feeling of emptiness was as literal as it was psychological. 

He closed his eyes, and whispered "Fuck" to himself. And then Duke slowly nudged his cock through Zayn's anal muscles, until he was seated fully inside the gorgeous young lad beneath him. The fur of his stomach brushed against Zayn's lower back and arse cheeks, the swell of Duke's cock inside his arse - a place nothing had ever touched - created a throbbing sensation.

Zayn had tried his best to make this as normal as possible. But the pain was too much, and he let out an excruciating gasp, one that even made Duke flinch behind him. He held back tears and gritted his teeth as he felt his hole stretching around Duke's cock, the only relief being the wall of saliva Duke had coated his hole with beforehand. It meant Duke could slide out and back in just that little bit smoother. 

Every part of Zayn's body was aching. His legs had been bent over the edge of the bed for hours now, his neck cramped from desperately trying to look over his shoulder so many times, his back scratched and condensed from Duke's weight and the sharpness of his claws. But nothing compared to the burn he felt in his arse.

He wanted Duke to stop, but Duke seemed to have other ideas. He quickened his pace, leaning forward more, panting directly behind Zayn's shoulder and in his ear, pistolling Zayn's tight body with every downward thrust. Zayn was moaning silent moans, his mouth agape but too overwhelmed for noise to come out. 

And then suddenly Duke penetrated a part of Zayn's body he didn't even know existed. His mouth somehow opened even more, his neck stretched back, revealing his beautiful neck-veins, his sharp jaw tilted upwards, as if praying to the heavens above for this feeling to never end. Duke hit his prostate again, finding just as much pleasure from pumping into Zayn's rump as Zayn himself was feeling. He hit it over and over, and it only made him more aggressive. He began completely humping Zayn's body, driving him into the mattress, using him like a rag-doll; Zayn's legs spreading in all directions, his hands a pale white from gripping the sheets so tightly.

A few more thrusts, and he felt his cock stirring. He had completely forgotten about his cock, about coming, about actually having an orgasm. He tried desperately to bring his arm down to touch himself, but the force of Duke's thrusts just sent his arms wailing like he was drowning at sea. The only way he could get the friction on his cock he so desperately needed was to match Duke: He humped the sheets, thrusting back on Duke's hard cock, the smooth feel of the fabric rubbing against his semi-erect cock, his balls rolling around without even being touched. It was the best feeling Zayn didn't know you could have.

Duke started almost howling, whimpering behind Zayn's ear as he kept on thrusting. One particular thrust hit Zayn's prostate so hard, he shot several loads one after another onto the sheets below. His cock, still facing downwards between his thighs, had such force that come went everywhere. It landed on Duke's back legs, on the soft cotton sheets, and down his own thighs, completely coating them in his own substance.

Zayn moaned silently as he came down from his orgasm, never before having come without his cock being touched. He was so tired, so exhausted from the most confusingly mind-blowing fuck he'd ever had, but he didn't even have time to dwell or settle, because Duke was still hurling his body back onto his own cock, desperate for release.

Oh shit, Zayn thought as he realized what came next. 

"No, no, no, no." Zayn said in quick succession, over and over, desperately trying to signal to Duke to back away. But his companion was in a state of bliss, so deep into fucking this boy below him he probably forgot it was actually Zayn, his beloved owner. 

With one final whimper and one final thrust, Duke exhaled - Zayn could feel it over his shoulder - and released his knot deep within Zayn. What felt like an infinite amount of come flooded Zayn's rectum, coating his walls, making him feel warm and loved once more. He dreaded this moment and almost stopped it from happening. But as he felt his hole filled with the creamy substance of his dog Duke, he had never felt more complete. 

He lay there, exhausted. Duke withdrew, panting and dismounting Zayn's body. He trotted off out of the room, presumably to gulp a shit-load of water; it's what Zayn felt like doing as he licked around his dry mouth. He didn't even get to look Duke in the eye after the deed had been done. He was just left there with his legs still spread open, his own come drying on the inside and backs of his thighs, Duke's come leaking out of his hole, dripping pretty rapidly onto the sheets below.


	2. Zayn gets fucked with a stiletto by Donatella Versace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Zayn is stood up after watching Gigi's appearance in the latest Versace Fashion Show in New York, but luckily the house's iconic Queen Donatella Versace is there to make sure one of her latest Versace muses is given the celebrity treatment by the way of an after-party at her Brooklyn penthouse.
> 
> Even if that after-party is really just a blowjob on the sofa and using a stiletto to fuck Zayn into oblivion.

As he waited for Bruno Mars to finish his performance of 'Versace On The Floor', Zayn nervously kicked the metal heel of his boots against the walls of the industrial warehouse-turned-showroom. 'Corny much?', he thought to himself as he subconsciously rolled his eyes at the song being performed at a Versace fashion show. He wouldn't tell Donatella this, though. He admired her too greatly to insult anything she did, so even though he found the fact she glitzed up a warehouse for her show to be tacky, and hated the campness of a Versace-referencing anthem being played at a Versace show, he'd keep it to himself.

Besides, he was mainly here for Gigi, anyway. She'd already opened and closed the show, and he was stood alone while his girl, presumably, hung out with her gal-pals Karlie Kloss and Natasha Poly, taking selfies and congratulating themselves on another successful season.

He was in all black for the occasion: a tight-knitted black sweater, round around the neck but well fitted to pronounce his well-defined figure. His jeans were night-black and tight, probably too tight, if he was being honest. He was more of a fan of baggy and loose clothing, such as parkers and ripped jeans, but he was amongst the fashion elite, so he would surrender his comfort for now.

He figured Gigi would only be another few minutes or so, but as he heard a female voice behind him, he realised it was not Gigi. The voice was much deeper, and sounded slurred. He also did not even comprehend what was said in his direction. He turned around to the sight of Donatella: sculptured-but-boney arms, platinum blonde hair shining like a beacon in the dark hallway, her bold, defining features standing out even though Zayn was still a little disoriented. She was tiny, like a petite doll, and she walked trepidly, for she was towering in a colossal pair of nine-inch heels, chunky at the top and narrowing at the bottom. 

"What?" came his natural response. 

She laughed, and finally emerged out of the darkness to stand within a breath away from Zayn. "I said Gigi is nowhere near ready yet! She laughs backstage still." 

Zayn chuckled to himself at Donatella's confused English, but he understood nevertheless: He had been dating a model for a few years now, so he knew that waiting around for her diva lifestyle came with the territory. But he knew she'd be going to the Giambattista Valli show straight after, and he wondered if he'd even see her at all before she headed off for her next show. He felt a little angry, if he was being honest. He'd basically been stood up, being the supportive boyfriend in a crowd he probably wasn't entirely comfortable in, and Gigi was too caught up hanging with her girls. 

It wasn't the first time they'd failed to find the time to see each other between shows, but he just wishes she had told him. Save him standing here looking like a fool.

Then he felt a firm hand grasp his wrist, followed by a sharp pull. He lost his footing and clambered after Donatella. "Come to the after party!" Donatella said excitedly, and honestly, Zayn could use a drink and a joint, so he wasn't turned off by the idea at all. Besides, as if he'd say no to someone who had become a genuine mentor in his life in recent times. 

\- - -

Donatella led him through a dark curtain, into a luxurious penthouse overlooking the Brooklyn city below. The ambient lighting, gold-crusted fittings and leather furniture made the setting feel rather opulent, and if Zayn was truthful, sexy. 

But there were no people, and the room was completely silent save for the faint sound of classical tunes playing from a speaker Zayn could not identify. What sort of an afterparty was this?

"The party will be arriving soon," Donatella said from across the room, sensing Zayn's confusion. 

She returned to where Zayn was sitting awkwardly on an armchair, carrying two cocktails. When he bought it to his lips, Zayn was struck instantly with the taste of vodka: stinging, clinical vodka. He also got the subtle taste of gin, lime soda, and mint. But again, he wouldn't turn away someone like Donatella. She just oozed power and had an aura of confidence about her. Not unlike his own Gigi, who was a six-foot glamazon. 

And when Donatella leant in, so close he could feel her breath and see every pore in her olive-toned skin, he wasn't as bothered as he thought he would be. Donatella's image as a living embodiment of Botox, collagen, cocaine and cigarettes gave her a reputation of being some sort of freak show. Yet Zayn found her all woman. Sure, she looked nothing like the young, fresh-faced Donatella who used to serve as Gianni Versace's muse in the 80's and 90's, but he wasn't freaked out by any of it. 

Even when she again grabbed his hand, and brought it up to rest on her cheek. He felt the warmth that radiated from her, the firm skin of a strong woman with life experience and time on her side. He continued to palm her cheek, all the while not even realising that her hands were prying the fly of his jeans apart. But he certainly felt when she forcefully dove her hands beneath the waistband of his underwear and scratched her hands through his pubes (He did not anticipate that he would be getting felt up by Donatella fucking Versace when he woke up this morning). 

She grasped his flaccid cock in her hand, thick and heavy against her fingers, and she could swear she felt it throb and pulse. Zayn almost let out a moan of relief, before stifling it, and resorting to a "Woah", and leaning back. Just enough to let Donatella know that he wasn't on the same wavelength as her, but enough that her hands remained exactly where they were; one caressing his hand that palmed her cheek, and the other ever-so-slightly stroking his cock up and down.

Reacting to his disguised apprehension, Donatella gave the beautiful boy a reassuring look; the same look she gave him when they created their first line together, or when her favourite muse Gigi first introduced Zayn to her and she approved. Whether he even realised it before now or not, Donatella had become a major part of Zayn's life. She was the first influential celebrity outside of the music industry to genuinely believe in Zayn and try to give him a boost, plus she was such a presence in his girlfriend's life, so much so she was like the couple's fairy Godmother, for lack of better comparisons.

It made this situation - a 62 year-old woman, decked in make-up, plastic surgery and with the deepest, richest Italian voice he'd heard on a woman, hitting on a young, slightly-tipsy 24 year old - feel not as wrong as it should have felt.

Zayn's mind was in two places. He couldn't escape the niggling reminder of Gigi, his loyal, hard-working girlfriend who admired both he and Donatella so much, and here he was cheating on her behind her back. But he also couldn't fully concentrate on his guilt, for his cock was becoming hard in this cougar's hands very quickly, and his mind was already racing ahead to how good it would feel for his cock to be buried deep in this tiny woman's warm heat. 

There could be no going back now.

He decided to take the lead a little more, ushering Donatella's hands out of his pants so he could lower them properly, down his thighs, over his knees, then lifting his thin legs in the air to swing them off his feet. Donatella just watched in awe as the tanned boy's skin was unveiled with each layer of clothing he took off, each inch of perfectly kissable skin slowly being exposed. 

He'd barely had time to take the last piece of clothing off - the black sweater - before Donatella was already diving down to take his cock into her mouth. For a woman of her age, she certainly had no qualms doing all the things Zayn liked from Gigi, including moaning around his cock sending the vibrations through his body and sparking a deep moan from Zayn, and then deepthroating him, taking him all the way to the hilt until her nose was buried in his thick bush of pubes. Zayn honestly didn't care whether Donatella was bothered by his pubes or not, because he was too lost in the feeling of her wet mouth and thick, rubbery lips wrapped around his cock. 

He placed both hands on her thick blonde hair; it felt like straw in his hands, but it didn't deter him from guiding her head down onto his cock, thrusting his hips up to meet her sucks. He ended up fucking her face, the sounds of her whimpering, spluttering and slurping below only spurring him on. Perhaps he was too rough, considering she was a 62 year old woman after all, but she only responded to his treatment with an encouraging squeeze of his balls, loving the feeling of her fingers against his full sack. He moaned again, and she felt his balls contracting with each hollow of her cheeks around his shaft. She knew what she was doing to him, and it only made her want to see how much more she could make him lose his mind. 

With her fully clothed still, kneeling on the floor between his spread legs, she seized the opportunity to help the completely naked boy to the finish line. Still deepthroating his cock, she ran a finger behind his balls, pressing against his sweaty taint, which she noticed made him instinctively kick his legs slightly, then pressed the finger between his cheeks. He immediately gasped in surprise at the dry finger pressing against his hole; he'd had girls feel around there before, but none ever did it with intent as Donatella was doing right now. She was pressing firmly, seeking access to his most private part, and she was not taking no for an answer. 

She waited for a sign, and it came in the form of Zayn resuming his hip-thrusting, not only to keep thrusting deep into her face, but also in an effort to feel more of the push against his hole. At some point, she must have lubricated her finger with spit, because when he felt it at his entrance again a moment later, it was much colder, and slid through the tight ring of muscle with relative ease. And once her finger was in, she had no problem navigating from there. She pressed her finger in deeper, to the knuckle, and found the fleshy part of Zayn's body that made him almost bolt upright and impale her throat with his cock. 

He let out an embarrassingly frail moan not a whole lot unlike a teenage girl being penetrated for the first time. And Donatella sensed this.

"Oh, you like that, do you?" She slurred in her typically luscious Italian accent. "Take this," she pet his left shin, "and pull it back." He was still dazed, trying to focus on not coming just from a blowjob and a finger in his arse, but he obliged her request. He tucked his hand under his knee, and pulled it back. He felt utterly exposed, and a little uncomfortable. Here he was, one leg bent back to his chest, bare ass open and exposed... to a 62 year old woman... who just happened to be Donatella Versace. 

"Shall we take this a step further?" She asked him seductively, swiping the pad of her index finger over his dusty pink hole, surrounded by dark hairs. She continued swiping against it, as though wiping a fingerprint stain from a glass window. He had to admit: he was in awe of her effortless confidence, and he tried to play the whole situation cool, even though his mind was being blown by the situation he found himself in. 

"Get ready, baby." He loved her corny dialogue, straight out of a porno, but it was kind of sexy. He realised she must have been a cougar with quite an active sex life, because she knew exactly what she was doing.   
Taking this moment Zayn appeared to be distracted, she inserted two fingers into his hole, and he immediately could tell the difference, his rim just stretching that little bit more around the second finger. But this time, she was not intent on just trying things out: she was going to fuck him.

She began thrusting the two fingers in and out, thoroughly penetrating the boy's inner walls with each inward thrust, then dragging slowly with each outward thrust. She was now rapidly thrusting her fingers, piercing Zayn's sensitive hole with such force his hole body began shifting up and down the couch with the rhythm of her skilled fingers. His eyes were squeezed shut, in an effort to focus on just relaxing and enjoying this. He was coming around, but the pain was still undeniably there. His pink rim was now stretching to what he believed was it's max, his hole as full as it had ever been and ever would be. 

Donatella read this apprehension; she could see he wasn't entirely comfortable with his hole being filled, but she was loving the control she had over him. With just two fingers, she had reduced this gorgeous, masculine boy into a sweaty, moaning, slutty mess. She didn't think she had it in him, but now that she knew he did, she wanted to test his limits even further. And then an idea came to her mind. She can't explain where it came from, it just hit her straight away, and she decided it just had to happen. 

His cock lay neglected, resting against his stomach, leaking small drops of precome onto his dark treasure trail. It had become flaccid once more, but that was to be expected given he was being finger-fucked and couldn't even figure out if he was highly disturbed or highly aroused. Maybe it was a bit of both. Donatella looked at his cock and knew he would have to be distracted if she was to succeed in acting out her crazy idea on Zayn, so she licked her palm a few times, and returned her hand to wrap around his cock, feeling it instantly spring to life. 

"Oh fuck," Zayn let out, "yeah. So good." 

'Perfect', Donatella thought to herself. 

Zayn resumed the thrusting of his hips, loving the feeling of his cock again being paid attention, and feeling himself close to the brim. With his cock being stimulated, it took away from the stretch and burn he was feeling in his arse. And that feeling was replaced with a calming sense of contentment. Just as he was in probably the biggest state of bliss he'd felt in his time being butt naked in front of Donatella, he felt something hard and sharp at his entrance replace the softness and warmth of Donatella's fingers. 

"What the -" 

And then whatever it was impaled him, seating itself deep within Zayn's body, his rim once again with a suffocating stretch around it. He looked down his body, covered in a thin layer of sweat, and saw Donatella steadily holding the gigantic heel that was on her feet no less than an hour ago, concentrating on aiming it between his cheeks and directly into his pink, now slightly-puffy hole. 

She was fucking him with a stiletto! 

It was so fucked up that Zayn didn't know if he loved it, or hated it, and he was scared that she would lose control and just stab him with it, for it looked that hard and that sharp. But then she pressed it that little bit deeper, against his prostate, and he lost it. Realising she had a handle on it, and was not going to hurt him with it, he sighed, letting out a deep breath of affirmation. 

And that was all Donatella needed to release her hand from his cock, and focus on using both hands to drive the tip of the heel deep into Zayn's body, aiming to thrust into his hole with no relief, determined to make him come. She was so in control that she pouted and smirked up at the boy who was falling apart in front of her eyes. 

Zayn didn't even know how to react, he didn't even know what to do. His hands hopelessly flailed about trying to find something to grab onto to collect his balance, trying to thrust his hips up and down with the timing of her forceful intrusions but struggling. Little high-pitched "ooohs" and "aahhhs" and "fuck fuck fuck's" left his mouth, his plump lips open and breaths coming out fast and heavy. 

"Fuck yourself on it, baby. Do it." 

The words came as a shock to Zayn, and awoke him from his hysterical slumber. Had he really been reduced to this? He had to give it to her, she was a master of manipulation. She'd turned the tables to make Zayn want this. To make him want to be fucked harder and deeper, and she was now tagging out. 

She wanted him to do it himself. 

He slowly extended a shaky hand down beneath the curve of his smooth butt cheeks, and replaced Donatella's boney fingers with his thicker and more slender fingers. They wrapped around the thick front of the shoe, but he was so nervous he didn't handle it gentle enough, sending it deep into himself accidentally. But it was enough for Zayn to see he could do this. She watched and nodded encouragingly, and Zayn confidently thrust it into himself with a desire to match Donatella's efforts. He continued to moan, and Donatella took the opportunity to press her wet digits - damp from the juices of his own anal passage - against his lips. 

Zayn, out of reflex, immediately closes his lips around the fingers, not entirely appreciating the musky taste he felt on his tongue, but wanting to please the older woman and feel full in another way. As he did so, he slightly lost his rhythm in fucking the heel in and out of his hole, before Donatella's gentle, guiding hand grabbed over the top of Zayn's, and returned him to a steady rhythm that had him falling apart and thrusting onto the object.

"You're doing so good, so so good." She whispered, and Zayn nodded, her fingers still in his mouth. His eyes were lazily closed, hair slightly damp from sweat against his forehead. 

She leant down to suck his left testicle into her mouth, and then the right, before taking his cock into her mouth one final time. It seemed that from all the anal penetration that was new and exciting to him, it was the familiar feeling of two plump lips around his cock, creating that deep suction, that sent him over the edge. He quivered, let out a loud gasp, and shot his load deep into her mouth without any warning. She moaned, and pulled away, but accepted the load nevertheless. 

His movements with the stiletto had stopped almost entirely, and he was now resting it casually against his hole, before Donatella used her petite hands to gently slide the thin metal heel out of his rectum. It left his body with a squelching sound, causing Zayn to gasp in shock at the emptiness he now felt as his hole clenched around air, drops of Donatella's saliva slid out of his hole and down his taint, creating a shiny allure around his most private area. 

"Thank you," Zayn breathed out, for what reason he had absolutely no idea. He was beyond caring. She giggled slyly and raised the tip of the heel up like a prized trophy; it was glistening with his juices and may have had the smallest stain of brown on it's edge. He was slowly coming to his senses, out of breath and so sweaty he was afraid he would stick to the leather sofa he was sprawled out on.   
And then something made him sit upwards in curiosity.

"When did you even take your shoe off?" He asked in his dopey Bradford accent. Donatella just winked and tossed her hair over her shoulder, before throwing the shoes over in the corner of the room, the clunking of the metal heels hitting the floor making him realise he had just come from being fucked in the arse by a stiletto!

He also became aware of his surroundings again for the first time in what felt like hours but was really only about thirty minutes. The penthouse was still empty; the night sky outside now jet black rather than the crisp sapphire blue twilight it was when he arrived.   
"There is no after party, is there?" Zayn asked nervously, suspicious of Donatella's motives. 

"No, there is," came the response from Donatella in one of the rooms down the hallway. A knock at the door came, and Zayn, light-headed and erection still not fully contained yet, picked himself up to answer. He was greeted at the door by a smirking Gigi, a mischievous look in her eyes he had only seen when she threw a surprise date for him or if she bought a new set of lingerie to wear for him. 

"How was it?" She said, without even greeting him with a hello or a hug. Zayn was confused, before she pulled up her stretched out pant leg to reveal her heels: exact replicas of Donatella's. 

'Wow' Zayn thought to himself. He now understood he was in a relationship with a woman who was so much more than he ever gave her credit for. But as he and Gigi arrived back in their leased New York flat later that night, it was an older woman who he thought of as he thrust into Gigi so hard he made the bedhead crash against the thin walls. And Gigi was perfectly OK with that for tonight.


End file.
